Sands of Time
by Starry Leynx
Summary: Sayori Wakaba is known throughout as Yuuki Kuran's human best friend, but really, who is she? The daughter of a businessman, the lover of roses or the obedient daughter subjected to an arranged marriage; the lover of a vampire? The sands of time can tell.
1. Chapter 1: Genuit

purity, innocence, serenity.  
>your face shines with peace.<br>let me sing the leaves melody,  
>guard your heart with the sword of summer.<br>_genuit autumnus, sorror aestas_

* * *

><p>Kaouri Isamu Wakaba had almost forgotten the thrill of giving birth. <em>Almost.<em>

Her long, chocolate-brown messy curls lay around her pillow. Her tired caramel eyes scanned the room for her new child. The bubble of anxiety and wonder stirred inside her stomach. There was never quite a feeling like it.

Then, _there_; that was when she walked into Kaouri's life. Or more specifically was carried into her life.

Wrapped in a bundle of soft, cotton pink blankets was the calm serene face of a newborn baby girl. Her small button nose, milk-white skin and pastel-pink lips were set into a tiny frown. Her soft eyelids were curled shut against the dim hospital room lights.

Kaouri's eyes softened at the sight of her daughter. _Her daughter. _Her worn arms curled protectively around the small blanket-wrapped bundle. _My daughter, my daughter._

"Kaouri!"

The hospital's sliding door slid open as her husband rushed in. Even when his blond hair was ruffled, Chiyo Wakaba appeared as the perfect businessman. A ten-year-old boy stepped in uncertainly after his father, his golden-brown eyes wide with excitement.

"Chiyo. Takashi," she whispered hoarsely. Her lips curved into a small smile. "Meet the newest addition to the Wakaba family."

Chiyo's eyes widened. He choked. Slowly, softly, he stepped forward his arms held out slightly in askance. The woman nodded, her chocolate-brown irises fixed on her daughter as she held out her arms.

The businessman gently lifted his daughter into his arms. "What should we call her?" he murmured wondrously, transfixed by the innocent face.

Takashi stared at his younger sister. "Ne, otousan; kaa-san," he piped up. "Let's call her Yori! Yori-chan!" he enthused.

Chiyo looked appalled. "Takashi, that is very informal," he replied. "I cannot even consider that name."

Takashi pouted. "Yori likes it!" he argued. He pointed a finger to the sleeping child's face. "See?"

The blond-haired man glanced at the baby in his arms. A small, relaxed smile had graced the newborn's features. His amethyst irises softened; _her first smile._

"Chiyo." His head snapped to his wife's face. "I think we should call her Yori, she looks so happy."

Chiyo frowned. He glanced at his wife's face and then at his son's. "Fine," he allowed. "However, Yori will only be a nickname. She _will _be called Sayori around other people as a sign of class," he continued sternly.

Takashi's eyes lit up. "Great!" he shouted, "I can hold Yori now?" he asked.

Chiyo rolled his eyes. "Be very careful. She's very fragile. I can't afford any injuries happening to my possible heiress," he warned. Kaouri frowned at the mention of heiress but made no comment as Yori was placed in Takashi's arms.

"Ne, Yori-chan I go to Yuki-Hana Elementary," Takashi said excitedly, "my best friend is a guy called Fuu-kun. He's cool! The girls and guys always give me their snacks and money at break even though I don't ask, so when you go to school they'll be extra-nice to you too. They promised!" he babbled.

Takashi blushed. "I'm talking too much, ne? Well then Yori-chan, ja ne." He handed the newborn girl to his mother.

The tired woman's arms curled around her. A small smile graced her lips. She leaned back into the pillows and gazed at the peaceful little face.

Sayori Wakaba, the peaceful face, was fast asleep at that moment; not knowing about the complex spider web of a life which awaited her.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This is my first story, a Vampire Knight fic about Sayori Wakaba's life. I fervently hope it will be a success!_

_I will update every Sunday and on the occasion, a Friday. Or perhaps every Friday or on the occasion a Sunday. I'll clarify in the next chapter. _

_Thanks,_

Starry Leynx


	2. Chapter 2: Mutare

flame dances in your eyes,  
>strength in the silken sea of skin,<br>but you are silver are you not?  
>take my hands.<br>change for the better,  
>the sun will sink into the sea.<br>_mutare in ignis fit caeli__  
><em>

* * *

><p>A three-year-old girl pouted at the thirteen-year-old boy in front of her.<p>

"Takashi! Give it back!" she commanded.

The boy's amethyst eyes twinkled. "That wasn't very nice Yori," he replied, feigning a pout.

The three-year-old girl sighed. "Fine. _Please _give it back onni-san," she requested sweetly. Her wide eyes grew round and puppy-like.

"Hai," her brother gave in. He handed the small white teddy bear to her. The girl grinned triumphantly, her arms curling around the toy.

Takashi was even more handsome at the age of thirteen. His angular face was more pronounced as his puppy fat had vanished. Straw-colored blond curls framed his pointed face. His skin was a light shade of peach rather than his earlier milk-white.

"Yori-chan, otousan will be upset if you crumble your sundress," Takashi chastised. He smoothed his own purple hooded t-shirt and expensive jeans. His eyes scanned his converse's laces. They were tied.

Yori rolled her eyes at him. "It was your fault that my sundress got crumbled anyway," she retorted. "Onni-san, why is father so strict about our appearance?"

Takashi leaned down. "He isn't always this strict, Yori. Today we are attending a party, so he is especially concerned," he explained offhandedly. "You're a mess."

Yori glanced at her crumpled dark green silk sundress. "It's too proper for a three year old anyway," she proclaimed. She tightened her grip on her teddy bear. "Why do I have to go?"

Takashi rolled his eyes. "You have to go because it's New Years," he responded lightly. "We have to go back inside now, Yori-chan." He added, almost as if it was an afterthought.

Yori nodded. "I'll come in five minutes, onni-san," she replied emotionlessly, scanning a red rose.

Takashi waved his hand discreetly. "What am I going to do with you?" he exclaimed teasingly. He laughed as he pushed open the twin glass doors leading inside the masion.

Yori paused as she scanned the gardens. They were amazing as usual, she concluded. Long, velvety grass rose from the ground. Roses of every color peered at her. The sweet scent of lavender and honey made her nose crinkle in delight. The weeping willow trees by the fishpond gave a peaceful feeling. All the fruit trees were scattered around; touches of color in dull spaces. Indeed, the mansion gardens were her favorite place to be in the world.

The three-year-old curled a messy chestnut lock around a small, slim finger. Her little fingers gripped the slender stalk of a lavender rose, her favorite flower. Yori gazed at the delicate flower in awe, her eyes glowing with love. It slightly ironic that she had fallen in love with the flower as soon as she had laid her eyes on it – enchanted by the unusual color that graced the petals. When she had found out that a lavender rose's meaning was love at the first sight and enchantment, the rose had become her favorite flower.

"Bara-chan," she whispered. "Ogenki desu ka?"(1)

"It's just a rose, baka. It can't tell you how it's doing!"

Yori glared at the glass doors. Standing there in his manly glory was Takashi, a teasing grin on his handsome features. "Onni-san," she scolded. Roses were the only things that Yori was sentimental about and she valued them. "You're disturbing me!"

Takashi laughed. "Hettie-san must prepare you for the party. I was sent to collect you instead of Norkoi-san." He frowned.

Yori sighed. "Naze? (2)" she murmured, gathering herself. She tucked the rose behind her ear and followed her frowning brother inside.

The huge, empty hallways decorated with family portraits were something Yori always avoided. It seemed empty, lifeless and haunted by the past. Though the three-year-old believed in the importance of the past she was more focused on the present. The leering faces of her ancestors had always frightened her; the permanent disapproval etched onto their faces a constant reminder of formality.

She stepped into one of the first rooms, an old fashioned room with a large marble counter and long mirror. There were floor-to-ceiling French windows and heavy green silk curtains. A young woman dressed in a maid's uniform stood with her back turned to Yori. Her wavy black hair was scraped into a neat, fashionable bun at the top of her head.

"Hettie-san?" Yori asked. She warily eyed the maid, well acquainted with her hyperactive nature and ever changing mood swings. If Hettie-san were in one of her moods then she would have to escape.

"Sayori-san!" Hettie spun around, an evil smirk in her eyes. "How_ lovely _to see you." She edged forwards and grabbed the girl by both her shoulders.

The maid grinned. "I'm going to make you look so cute!" she squealed as Yori buried her face in her hands.

–

Yori gazed at herself in the mirror, trying to place the girl who stared back at her with slight shock in her irises.

Her short, curly chestnut brown locks had been combed out and straightened with a small French braid worked in the hair, while the rest of the silky locks were poker-straight. Her curly eyelashes seemed even longer than before as castor oil had been applied, but it framed her caramel irises nicely. The sheer blackness of her lashes brought out the soft gray in her irises; dew drops among the ground. Her short, slim body had been fitted into a spaghetti-strap dark green velvet dress, which was embroidered with golden butterflies. She wore tiny white silk gloves that reached her elbows. Her feet were set in heeled black sandals. Her nails were painted silver.

It looked terrible.

What was she wearing? Yori gazed at herself in the mirror in horror. At school, three-year-olds never wore _these _clothes. They never wore dresses, heeled sandals and gloves; they wore comfortable tees and worn sneakers.

"I can't wear this," Yori managed.

Hettie frowned. "Wakaba-san, your father ordered that you should dress like this," she replied, obviously not getting it.

Yori scowled. "I'm only three. I can't wear this," she repeated.

Hettie glared at her, hands placed on her hips. "Precisely. You are three but you are rich. You are heiress to a multimillion company, so you must make an excellent impression at a young age."

Yori ran out of the room. Her eyes were narrowed, tears filling her caramel-irises. Her chestnut-colored bangs covered her eyes. She suddenly halted, her hands curled into tiny fists and her eyes emotionless as she glared at her feet. Crying was unacceptable. It showed weakness. She would never be a weakling.

"My mind is logical at the age of three," Yori realized. She curled her lips into a tight smile, her eyes dark. "I am strong. I cannot cry; I won't let myself cry." Somehow, she felt stronger, almost as she had deluded herself into her little lie.

"What are you doing?"

Yori turned to find a worried Takashi glaring at her. "You had me worried. Hettie-san said you ran out but she refused to tell me the details. You argued–Yori, what happened?" he stopped, sweat beading his brow.

Her fists found themselves on her hips. Her caramel irises met her brother's amethyst ones. "She said that I had to inherit the c-c-company," she stuttered. Why was she stuttering? Three year olds like her were meant to be as tough as the silvery metal in mines.

Takashi bit his lip. Before Yori had the time to process what was going on, she found herself crushed against her brother's chest.

Yori's eyes widened in shock at the position they were in. "Onni-san?" she murmured.

"Baka," Takashi murmured back. "Just be quiet for a while."

Yori nodded against his warm chest, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. Her brother never hugged her before. She relaxed against him, thriving in their combined body heat; the smell of white lilies, mint and lavender radiated from her brother; soothing, calm and utterly Takashi. She had never felt so nice before… so _safe_.

_Safety. _How could she feel safe in her brother's arms? Why? She pressed her face in the silken material of his shirt, welcoming the foreign feeling that spread through her veins.

Surprisingly, Takashi didn't complain. He stroked her hair carefully, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Baka, I won't let you inherit the company. I'll protect you from otousan and all your dangers. _Yori…" _he paused. "… It's okay to cry once in a while, you baka."

Yori stiffened at his words. Then, for the first time in the two years of her life, she felt tears pricking at her eyes. Slowly, gently, she hugged Takashi tightly as something wet touched her cheek. _Tears. _Suddenly, she was crying; but it felt _right. _Safe. Warm.

"Ah! Yori-chan, you're going to ruin the castor oil!"

–

"We will be reaching the Younkoi residence in five minutes."

Chiyo Wakaba smiled charmingly at his family. His blond waves complimented his angular face. The polished black tuxedo he wore with his favorite scarlet tie highlighted the peach shade of his skin. The man radiated gentlemanly poise however his amethyst irises held an unspoken threat.

Chiyo smiled. Yori shuddered at the shark-like smile on her father's handsome face. "I expect that you will make a good impression on the guests," he said lightheartedly. He laughed softly. "I'm worrying over nothing. _Aren't I_?"

Takashi nodded mutely. Yori had never seen her onni-san look so handsome; his blond waves neat, navy tie straight and black tuxedo glowing. She slipped a hand in her brother's comfortingly, sensing his anxiety in the tense set of his shoulders. As he squeezed her hand in return, she felt a familiar fire surge through her. She would best every little girl in this party, she knew.

Or so she hoped.

Yori restrained the urge to tousle her carefully curled locks in her frustration. _Calm down, _she silently admonished herself, _look around you. Observe. Test your body language observation skills._

Inhaling deeply, she glanced around the large section of the amber-colored limousine (3).

Her eyes instantly landed on her mother's face, interested by the combination of faint unhappiness coupled with frigid politeness. Her mother was a warm woman; genial and contented no matter the circumstances. Why was she conveying a contrary nature now? Yori silently pondered.

"Kaa-san?" she inquired hesitantly, knowing all too well the flurry of emotions that could ensue.

Kaouri jerked her head up, surprised by the sound. She relaxed when she realized it was Yori who had spoken, raising an eyebrow kindly in question.

The girl smiled uncertainly, relieved her mother hadn't begun to sob hysterically, complaining about her headaches. "You look pretty," she complimented tactfully.

A smile broke onto the woman's lips at the compliment. "Thank you, Yori." She pecked her cheek lovingly. "You're such an amazing daughter..." she trailed off, smiling brightly.

Chiyo glanced up sharply. "You mean _Sayori_," he corrected, a slight edge to his voice, "that's what you meant, right dear?" his voice held an unspoken threat.

Kaouri's smile tightened. "Of course I meant Sayori," she amended hastily, lowering her eyes from her spouse's cold gaze.

Almost delicately, the atmosphere grew heavier with tension.

"If I may be as privileged enough to intrude on this conversation," the chauffeur's smooth voice slid through the intercom, "we have arrived at the Younkoi's residence, the delightful Domus Niger (4)."

Chiyo flashed one last pointed glance at his family as the chauffeur swung open the sleek door, holding it cordially.

"If you please," the businessman said confidently, climbing out of the vehicle.

The servant nodded placidly, retrieving a phone from his pocket and proceeded to dial a number. "With all the gracious honor I can bestow on my words, the Wakaba's have arrived and wish for their escort," he informed into the receiver.

He paused for a moment, eyes blank.

"My master gives his most deep thanks," he replied, ending the call with a flourish.

Chiyo eyed him expectantly, awaiting an answer. "What did they say?" he prompted.

"Lady Nakamura said that she was delighted to behold the company of the Wakabas and would send an escort right away. She will be awaiting you at the lounge."

The blond sighed in relief. "Good, good," he said curtly, "let's hope tonight's proceedings will run well." He sent a meaningful glance to Kaouri.

"Indeed," she agreed calmly, though a flicker of frustration was evident in her eyes.

Yori noticed this exchange with some puzzlement, but her mind was more focused on the chauffeur's relay of the conversation. "Lady Nakamura?" she inquired, surprised, "is she Lady Younkoi's sister?"

Chiyo whirled around to her, startled. "Sayori, has Hettie not briefed you on the Younkoi's?" he inquired, shocked. "Kami," he cursed inwardly, "Takashi inform Sayori. Now."

Takashi nodded obediently. "Lady Nakamura was a prominent feminist before she was married, so she decided to carry her maiden name to display her power," he explained, "feminist means a defender of woman rights," he added, noticing Yori's confused face.

"It was completely senseless of her to do so," Chiyo said decisively, turning to Yori. "When you are married, Sayori, you must be a becoming and supportive wife. Do you understand?" He leaned close, breath fanning over her face.

Kaouri frowned at her husband angrily. "Chiyo, she's only three!" she snapped.

Yori silently nodded in agreement as her father chided her mother for her impertinence. "...she may be three but she comes from a very successful family. We must consider the alternatives at a young age," her father's voice buzzed at the back of her mind. She ignored it, scanning the wide nourished lawns that sported a beautiful stone fountain. Three fish heads spouting water gazed at her solemnly while a tiny engraved mermaid giggled knowingly, making a slight face as if to say "_Parents_."

The chestnut-haired three year old grinned back albeit more placidly. Cheekiness was unattractive, Hettie's stern voice reminded her, you come from a rich family so you must make a good impression at the age of three.

A scowl marred her face. _I do not, _she soundlessly argued, irritation rocketing through her veins. _Takashi's going to be the heir anyway; he's so much older than me._

The image of the French maid laughed unkindly at her, snickering mercilessly. _Poor child, _she cackled, _you don't even know your future! _she hissed, tears streaming from her eyes.

Yori narrowed her eyes. _I do, _she screamed, _stop it! _The evil laughs continued, filling her mind relentlessly. _Leave me alone!_

"The Wakabas, I presume?"

A polished voice resonated in her ears. Yori widened her browns to their normal extent and instantly glanced in the sound's direction. A tall, hooded man dressed in charcoal bowed low. A silver of incredible blue eyes peered at the family. Yori stared at the color, entranced; it was the most beautiful shade of blue she had ever saw. Bluer than the skies and the oceans in her storybooks.

"Yes, we are the Wakabas," her father's clear, elegant voice confirmed, breaking the spell. She frowned as the man swept into a bow once more then alighted, stepping onto a carefully designed onyx path.

"Please, follow me," the stranger murmured, leading as he delicately stepped on each heart-shaped chunk of onyx.

Yori followed obediently, walking behind her father and in front of her mother. Her eyes focused on the mysterious man's back, faintly noticing the intricate path led to an elegant mansion wrapped in the embrace of midnight. Within minutes, they reached twin looming obsidian doors. A head of wolf knocker bared its jet black fangs at them, its hematite eyes seemingly following their movement. Yori shivered at its ravenous expression, fear piercing her at the thought of a real wolf baring its fangs hungrily.

The man, however, expressed no emotion as he firmly gripped the knocker and pulled back.

Instantly, the doors swung gracefully to the sides revealing a long, polished hall. A black marble floor glimmered while onyx and agate statues of wolves were scattered tastefully. Occasionally, a female statue crafted with delicate porcelain and sweeping raven locks sat regally on a wolf or seemed to be standing next to it. A soft white mat was before every tall midnight door bearing a wolf knocker that gazed at the main door frigidly, a haughty glint in their hematite eyes.

Standing on a snowy rug, a tall pale woman smiled genially as she caught sight of them. "My dear Kao! It has been too long!" she cried at the sight of her friend. "You're looking lovely in that scarlet dress of yours; you must tell me where you bought it. Hastune–"

Chiyo cleared his throat pointedly.

"Oh hello Chiyo," the woman uttered contemptuously.

The blond nodded to her courteously. "Greetings to you, _Mira_," he responded mockingly.

Yori listened to this exchange in confusion as Takashi shifted uncomfortably next to her. Why was her father acting like this? It seemed so unlike from the contented, joyful man she knew so well. Or she thought she knew.

Kaouri noticed her puzzlement and flushed. "Mira, you haven't met my daughter have you?" she interjected hurriedly, diffusing the situation, "come here, Yori; meet Lady Nakamura."

Lady Nakamura, the fair-skinned woman, straightened with a look of astonishment on her face. "You had a daughter, Kao?" she inquired in amazement, "why didn't you send the word? Come along, let me have a look at you; she's a shy one, isn't she?" she added to her mother.

Yori stepped up, flushing in embarrassment as the chestnut-haired hostess examined her thoroughly, experimentally pinching her cheeks and toying with a lock of curled chestnut hair. She heard her draw in a deep breath and silently, Yori awaited her reaction with burning cheeks.

"She's adorable!"

The feminist's excited cry broke through her fear. Yori stared at the woman in complete shock, stunned by her reaction. Then, an automatic smile sprung to her lips at her father's meaningful glance.

Lady Nakamura nodded approvingly. "A bit on the skinny side though, but my dear we have lots of lovely cakes inside," she patronized critically, "you must call me Auntie Mira, we can be like family!"

"Of course Lady Mira," Yori agreed, bowing her head in respect.

"_Auntie _Mira."

"Yes, yes," Chiyo interrupted, appearing disgruntled, "may we be escorted to the ballroom?" He smiled pointedly.

Lady Nakamura waved a hand inconspicuously. "Of course," she returned coolly.

As her voice receded, a tall cloaked man appeared by her side, bowing low. "My lady?" he inquired silkily.

"Take them to the ballroom, lupinos. Make haste," she commanded.

The man alighted smoothly. "With honor," he obeyed.

Yori searched the escort with her eyes as he dutifully led them through a beautiful open black door carved with gold scenes of forests, wolves and tribal-folk dancing. _He's not the same man, _she realized, disappointment pooling in her stomach. She hoped to see those wonderful irises once more before the night ended.

"Please, enjoy the night," their escort's silken voice murmured. In a swirl of shadows and dark material, he left stepping back into the hall.

Yori glanced over her shoulder at the rapidly fading figure of the man. Discouraged, she scanned the ballroom briefly for any other children but when none prevailed, she lowered her twin dark browns to her feet.

"Yori-chan, don't be like that!" Takashi's cheerful voice chided her. "It's a lovely party with plenty of food and drink. Dance or make a friend!" he suggested.

Yori rolled her eyes, lifting her chin to meet her brother's gaze. "Do you see any other children?" she inquired pleasantly, a tinge of annoyance in her voice as the piano changed tunes and the faint strum of a guitar was heard.

The thirteen-year-old arched a brow at her expression. "Well, there must be another child. I see Sakura Hanyou and Kira Mastuni," he pointed out.

"Then why don't you go talk to them!" Yori snapped, irritated by his endless nagging.

The blond rolled his eyes. "Maybe I will," he muttered, curving his lips into a warm smile as he moved towards a pretty girl.

Yori silently watched her brother charm the rose-haired girl who blushed heavily at every comment he made. Interest sparked her gaze as a unruly haired boy frowned disapprovingly at the pair.

"Excuse me?" a polite albeit quiet voice spoke.

The girl instantly whirled around. A boy with short black hair and bangs framing curious neon eyes gazed at her.

"Yes?" she wondered, recoiling. A boy. _Ew, _she winced. Boys had cooties with the exception of full grown men and her dear brother Takashi. _Stop it! Cooties are meant for juvenile people._ She reprimanded herself but could not suppress the shudder that overtook her body.

"Are you Sayori Wakaba?" he plowed on without letting her reply, "my papa is an affiliate with your father. My name is Kaito Hiswagashi," he introduced.

Yori was taken aback for a moment. "Yes, I'm Sayori," she confirmed, smiling tightly, "hello Kaito. Pleased to meet you." She forced herself to take his outstretched hand. _Germs. Urgh. _She shuddered inwardly.

"How old are you, Sayori?" Kaito questioned curiously.

"I'm three. How old are you?"

Kaito frowned. "I am five. An obstacle is age," he murmured to himself, running a hand through his straight inky-blue tresses.

Yori arched a brown brow. "What?" she frowned, "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," she pressed.

Kaito smiled at her. "Nothing! Now, why don't we go for a walk on the landings? Look, the stairs are over there." He led her up the flight of stairs and into a high wooden hallway. Yori convinced herself not to reel out of disgust from his touch as they halted.

The boy glanced at her. "Tell me what you like," he demanded.

Yori shrugged, wondering why he needed to know such things. "I love roses; they're very pretty and they smell nice. I love the smell of hot chocolate but I cannot stand chocolate itself because it tastes too _happy_ but I like dark chocolate," she listed. "I love teddy bears. They're very..." she stopped, looking reluctant.

"Very?" he prompted, perking a brow.

"...cute," she mumbled, cheeks reddening.

Kaito chuckled. "Naïve," he mumbled to himself. "Do you have a teddy bear?"

Yori nodded hesitantly. What was she doing, telling all this to a stranger? "Yes, I have one. Her name's Nanako-chan," she replied straightforwardly.

"Nanako-chan?" he hid a smile.

Yori nodded, oblivious. What was he trying to do? "Excuse me, but I must go," she made to rise but was stopped by his wrist on her hand.

Kaito's eyes narrowed. "Don't go. I won't allow it," he hissed brutishly.

Yori shrank away, tugging her hand fruitlessly. "Leave me alone! I haven't done anything like you!" she glared furiously, meeting his rage with her own. Her eyes pricked with tears but she blinked them away fiercely. _You are silver. Metal does not cry, _she chanted to herself.

The boy's face turned an ugly shade of plum. "You. Will. Not. Leave," he ground out.

She stared at him incredulously. How could any boy have such a horrible temper? "You aren't being very polite," she retorted, equally upset, "and the law decrees any human being has the right to defend themselves from unpleasantness," she snapped.

Kaito's facial features stiffened in shock. He pursed his lips but seemingly decided against it. Schooling his features into a gentlemanly façade, he dipped his head apologetically. "You are right, I forgot myself in such an unappealing time," he apologized. "There is nothing I can do for my deeds but will a mere dance suffice?"

Yori considered him, scanning his face for any insincerity. "Alright," she accepted ungraciously, a trifle angered by his words.

The boy's lips quirked in a tiny satisfied smile as he proffered his hand, sweeping into an elegant bow. "May I have this dance, Sayori Wakaba?" he requested, smirking.

Unwillingly, her cheeks became rosy. "You may, Kaito Hiswagashi," she accepted, taking his hand with dignity.

The ink-haired boy smirked once more, then spun her to his body. Yori squeaked in disgust and surprise as her body collided with his. Her short, slight frame pressed against his slightly taller though equally skinny one. Just as suddenly, he spun her away and dipped her low, waltzing towards the edge of the corridor. He brought her up with some difficulty, heaving with effort as his tiny frame struggled to lift the three-year-old back into position. Yori felt utmost relief course through her when her feet landed on the solid ground and with a cry, she ripped away from him.

"Leave me alone! Can't you be _decent _and not affect me with your _cooties_?" she screamed, repulsed at him. Angrily, she dashed down the stairs and collided into her sturdy body.

"_Sayori_?" an incredulous voice met her burning ears. Her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment as she fiercely glared at the person she had ran into.

Twin amethyst orbs gazed down at her.

"Father," she winced, hurriedly stepping back. "I'm sorry for running into yo–" he cut her off with a glare.

"We are leaving," he informed her curtly, "Takashi and your mother are waiting in the limousine."

Yori nodded mechanically. "I see. Why are they waiting in the limo? Wha–" she was cut off again by a frown.

"_Limousine_," he corrected forcefully. "Now, hurry _up_!"

The chestnut-eyed girl nodded hurriedly, striding clumsily along the hallway with her father briskly leading the way. He paused, glancing behind him as Yori caught up.

"Get in. _Now_," he commanded, pushing her.

Yori obliged, quickly sliding in a leather-clad seat. Her father occupied the place opposite her, next to her brother and near her mother both who refused to met her eyes.

"What do you think you were doing?" her father's voice hissed at her, his exotic purples flashing. "Why were you _shouting _at Gizo _Hiswagashi's _son?" his voice dropped dangerously low.

Yori flinched and refused to meet his eyes. "He was being rude and silly! He kept on trying asking strange questions too!" she defended herself hotly, glaring at her lap.

Chiyo Wakaba gazed at her impassively for a moment. Then, he sighed in frustration.

"Sayori, I want the _best _for you. Understand that. But you are being too passionate, too hostile and too violent." He shook his head. "This cannot be done. You must be stoic and rational; logical. You have to be _calm_! Not some _volcano _which is about to burst at a word's notice!" He looked at her.

His eyes softened at her petulant frown. "I understand how you feel," he murmured softly, "being rich and successful is not for ones with faint hearts. You must be strong but reserved. You must _know_ your place. I care about you but I also must tend to my reputation and preserve it."

He cupped her chin gently and forced her to look at him.

"Do you understand?"

She understood far more than she wished to. Tomorrow and the days that would come she would not be the same Yori; the one with passionate words, fiery eyes and a raging soul. She would be more of a _Sa_yori, reserved, stoic and calm. Logical and rational.

Tomorrow was the era of a new Yori, of a new age and time.

She just hoped she would like it.

* * *

><p>(1) Ogenki desu ka means <em>how are you<em>  
>(2)Yori has been brought up in a more formal way so she says 'naze' instead of 'desu' which is less formal to say <em>why <em>in Japanese  
>(3) Amber is the color of the Wakabas as well as their signature gemstone for reasons shown later in the story.<br>(4) Domus Niger means black house in Latin.

_A/N: I do realize that is Yori is rather OOC is some parts of this chapter but this a valid part of the story. I'm updating before time as you see, because I'm going for camp and I want to post a second chapter to this story and please my faithful reviewers. I was extremely surprised and pleased to see that I had six reviews on the launch of the _Sands of Time _and one more review on the day after. I hope this chapter will be a success to. (by the way, I will reply to all of the reviews by today so bear with me)_

_Anyway, Chiyo is displaying a different aspect to his personality altogether in this chapter but reverted to his the aspect we saw in the first chapter at the ending. Perhaps being rich is not the playground that Yori thought it was. I tried to introduce some three-year-old elements for Yori but understand, she has been brought up in a formal way and has been exposed a large amount of vocabulary at a young age. For instance, like Matilda!_

_Kaito is also going to be very important to this story. And I have a secret: Aido is going to be introduced in the next chapter, in which Yori is seven. _

_Much love,_

Starry Leynx_  
><em>


	3. Chapter 3: Conventus

once fire, now air.  
>uncertain, compressed by laws.<br>my eyes meet yours.  
>certainty is the only emotion i can see.<br>you have the essence of a child.  
>with eyes that are ancient.<br>tell me your secret.  
>the secret of youth and age.<br>_mare occurrit sol__  
><em>

* * *

><p>The clack of heels against wood vibrated in the room. Soft, sweet music floated through the air in time with every step a seven-year-old girl took; her eyelids fluttering gracefully downwards and back perfectly straight.<p>

In the middle of the room a French woman clad in a lacy maid's uniform observed her progress with approval. Hettie Aoiki clapped her hands as the chestnut haired girl glided towards her.

"Stop!" she cried, bobbing her head in satisfaction. "Very good, Sayori. You have much improved."

Yori bowed her head modestly, a calm smile twisting her lips. "Thank you for your compliments, Hettie-san," she murmured demurely, "but the credit is yours. Without your gracious help I would not be reformed."

The maid preened. "Do you think?" she asked offhandedly, touching a tightly curled lock of hair.

The seven-year-old dipped her head in agreement. "Why of course," she answered sweetly, averting her doe eyes.

Hettie paused, glancing at the calm little seven year old girl. It still amazed her to see the change in her; the lack of fire in her eyes and the loss of cutting retorts. The unladylike posture had been replaced by a straight back and soulful orbs while the crude temper dimmed into astute calmness.

Indeed, she had done well. She bared her teeth in a smug smile as a small pang rocketed her heart. Where had all that passion gone?

"Hettie-san?" her apprentice's placid voice broke through her thoughts. "Wasn't Yuriko-san searching for you?"

A squeal burned the air as she leaped to her feet, heavy skirts knotted in her hands. Hettie closed her eyes briefly, slamming one hand on her stomach before hastily withdrawing it.

"Oh no!" she yelped, throwing Yori an apologetic smile. "I'm very sorry, dearie; I must go find darling Yuriko... san," she hastily added.

"Its oka..." she trailed off as the woman tottered off frantically. Yori sighed softly to herself as the woman left the room with effortless grace that she had been trained with. Grace required with the position of being a lady's maid; grace that she - Sayori Wakaba - had attained.

A few years ago if anyone had told her that she, _Yori_, would be sweet and demure she would have laughed, playing along easily with a tiny, knowing smirk on her lips. But _graceful_? _Elegance? _Those were different matters entirely; a playful, disbelieving punch to the arm accompanied by a glare and a horrified 'are you out of your _mind_?' would suffice.

She laughed bitterly, finding the irony mocking; as sharp as a stab from the swiftest of blades. The blood of her memories pouring down her too-pretty dress, staining it forever with the color of lost dreams... _stop it, _she scolded herself, _cultured people do not delight in gore. _

A vision of a young girl with roses - scarlet, lavender, white; the _colors _- twined in her hair, a scowl twisting her lips as she fiercely stared down a plump, rounded maid. Every argument hissed between clenched teeth were spoken with spirit; with _passion _against wearing beautiful but somehow ugly dresses that were too grown up for a three year old, filled her mind.

The urge to cry hit her, tears blurring the edges of her vision. Grief for the shining soul that was lost to society overwhelmed her. And then, Yori abruptly pushed her sorrow away, shoved the past into a distant world.

_You will never, ever be that girl again. Too much is at stake; your family's name will be ruined. In the dirt, you hear?_

With that realization, a sob tore from her throat. Water clouded her vision and she sank onto her haunches, curling into a fetal position. _Cannot, cannot, cannot_, she chanted silently to herself.

She could not because she was silver and silver made sacrifices.

It was just the way things were.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later Yori focused her gaze to the page strewn with Princess Rosalina's soft golden curls that flew across the wind as she tended to Prince Rupert's wounds. Usually, she would have been giddy on the sweet, fragrant air of the garden with one of her favorite storybooks. The rose heads that craned their hands at her in affectionate interest; the blissful romance of the gorgeous, fiery princess and her darkly handsome lover who jousted for her love.<p>

Now, all she could process was pain and the tears dampening Rosalina's silky curls.

_What a waste, _the seven-year-old grumbled to herself, rolling her eyes. If Hettie-san had caught her she would have been scolded and chastised for imitating such a rude, graceless mannerism. But she was beyond caring though a nagging voice told her it was wrong, it was rude and it was dishonorable; she could taste her long-forgotten passion, reach for it with delicate hands and grasp it with her heart. To taste fire again, to merge with it; the temptation nearly overwhelmed her.

_You are not gold so you cannot, _that tiresome, horrible subtle voice sneered at her. _You are silver and you make sacrifices. _

Sacrifices. Yori closed her eyes, a whimper rising in her throat. She wanted to be flashy, to be selfish and glamorous not the savior.

_But you're not a savior; you're a tool. A tool to be molded by your superiors, _the voice spat venomously.

"No, I'm not," she tried to whisper, lowering her head as tears poured down her cheeks. She tossed her book aside with sudden force, anger brightening her eyes as she wept tears of pain, grief and confusion.

Disgust bit into the pain. She was never the type for weepy people but here she was, sobbing her heart out. She desperately attempted to stop the gush of tears but failed as a larger torrent swam down her skin.

_Scuffle. Twitch. Scuffle._

Yori raised her head tearfully at the noises, suddenly alert. Guarded, she hastily wiped away the traces of her tears with the back of her hand, cursing the large amounts of wetness. She vowed to never cry again; it seemed like a weak thing to do. It made her feel vulnerable and the fact something was close added to her embarrassment of crying.

"Who's there?" she mumbled curiously to herself. Pain forgotten, Yori clambered over to the source of the scuffling.

The grey wall.

_Oh_.

The large, elegant mansion located next to her family's estate and mansion was rumored to be haunted by ghosts. The previous inhabitants had odd-colored eyes (violet) and kept mostly to themselves; preferably leaving the house at night. Every child who lived nearby avoided the place with delirious fear that had soon been replicated by Takashi and then Yori.

Would she dare venture over the wall? Yori bit her lip, suddenly reluctant to locate the source. What if a scary dragon awaited her, baring its ghastly fangs and leering at her with hungry yellowing eyes...

No. She would stand her ground, Yori decided. Princess Rosalina had been courageous and intelligent as well as _graceful_. That _had _to mean something, especially paired with the fact when she swung her legs over that rusting red wall she met stunning Prince Rupert.

Yori inwardly smiled, unconsciously grasping a foothold and pulling herself up. She imagined a boy with a dark complexion and suave inky pools awaiting her with a little concerned frown on his dusky rose lips. A dreamy smile replaced her reluctance as she swung her legs over as Takashi had taught her in her younger days and peered over.

A pair of icy eyes met her gaze.

Yori nearly flinched from the intensity of the gaze. Her heart thudded in fear; was this how ghosts looked like? She quavered for a minute, then pointed her decided chin. _Ghost's don't exist, _she scorned to herself. Be calm, do not risk angering the owner of such a frigid gaze.

"I beg your pardon?" she inquired, remembering 'excuse me' was less ladylike and elegant.

The owner of the pair perked a single eyebrow. _Blond_, Yori noticed. A soft, blond; lighter than straw, dimmer than sunshine and though pale, was not white. It was a soft, pale color with a slight blond sheen to it and it intriuged Yori. Blond was an uncommon color in Japan; Chiyo was of German ancestry so Takashi had received his father's hair.

"I beg your pardon...?" she repeated, inwardly uncertain but carefully concealing it with calmness. _A good lady always conceals her emotions, _Hettie-san's voice rang in her head.

Both the eyebrows went up. "I know what you said!" a high-pitched, irritated voice chafed.

Yori raised her brows in turn, trailing her gaze down his face. Flawless snowy skin, a pointed nose, high cheekbones set in a triangular face. It was too beautiful, too perfect. Yori silently awed at the aquamarine eyes he owned, the color far too unusual.

"What are you?" she wondered aloud.

"I'm here you know!" the blond boy rolled his eyes, "honestly, you should be asking _who _are you. What are you? Seriously?" he scoffed and continued.

Yori tuned his voice out - high pitched for a male's and for such ancient eyes, but oddly childish. Her eyes settled on his lips. They looked so soft, so velvety almost like a rose petal. The most pale pink rose petal in existence. Did it feel the same? A flare of long forgotten courage rose inside her.

She wanted to know.

"..and, for the council's sake, what is up with your... huh?" he trailed off as a small pale finger pressed against his lips. Silenced, he stared at her. "Wha..?"

Yori was entranced.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, appalled.

No response.

"Excuse me? I said _what are you doing?_" he tried again, irritation clouding his tones.

"I know what you said," she retorted simply, a hint of amusement flashing in her orbs.

The boy was speechless.

Abruptly Yori realized what she had said. Her lips parted; she had been crude. Displeasure creased her forehead as she rapidly searched for options to conceal her mistake.

No matter what Yori had always been a practical girl. She didn't enjoy dresses, high heels and silken gloves for she thought they were too adult like for her. She refused to settle for an marriage option because young girls did not get engaged. It was simply not done.

Yes, Yori was a sensible girl.

Thus, she chose the most practical option.

"Oh. I'm afraid my mamma is calling me." She frowned regretfully. "I must go now. It was a pleasure meeting you, by-"

He grabbed her arm, silencing her words as she gazed at him in shock.

Silence ensued; the girl too stunned to speak while the boy glared at her with flaming ice eyes.

Slight anger thawed the shock. How dare he take her arm as if they were good friends? Even so she was a _lady_! No gentleman would have touched her so intimately.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snarled, the fury shattering her calmness.

She had been too fierce, Yori realized with horror. She quickly schooled her features into one of simplicity.

_You will let him win if you become angry_, she told herself firmly.

"Please let go of my arm," she amended as gracefully as she could.

The pale-haired boy arched a brow as he stared at her. Slight confusion clouded his gaze.

"You're weird," he stated flatly.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"You're so calm but you suddenly start spitting fire. Then you become calm again. It's weird." He scowled.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Haven't your parents taught you to at least give an acquaintance a name before you leave? You're rich like me so you don't have an excuse," he snarked.

Yori raised a brow. "How do you know I'm rich?" she asked curiously.

His orbs widened slightly as he caught his mistake. "Um," he stammered.

"Yes?"

"Um, I just _heard _it, okay?" he snapped sulkily. He pursed his lips but paused. "Were you _crying_?"

Yori froze, tugging on his grip. "Crying?" she stated stoically. "I wasn't crying," she laughed.

"_Don't _lie! I can smell your tears!" he frowned at her.

She ignored him, her face an emotionless mask.

His eyes burned.

"Are you _ignoring _me?" he yelped sulkily.

"Mamma taught me not to share things with strangers."

The simple sentence took him aback.

A sudden smile creased his lips. "Fine," he pouted, amusement lingering in his eyes. "My name is Aidou. What's yours?"

"Aidou," she tasted it, liking the way it sounded on her tongue. It was cold and refreshing with the essence of winter.

Aidou stared at her. "That's my name," he pointed out.

Yori smiled to herself. "My name's Yori," she informed him, ignoring his previous statement.

"Yori," he returned. The name reminded him of amber and autumn. "Now we're not strangers, _Yori_." He smirked.

She laughed lightly. "I guess," she allowed. "Well..." she began, frowning thoughtfully.

"Well?" Aidou prompted, loosening his hold on her wrist.

Yori bit her lip. It wouldn't be ladylike to blurt out everything in front of a stranger but she felt comfortable and secure with Aidou.

_You can do it, _she encouraged herself. _Fergo the goblin felt better when he informed Noel the seal about his troubles. _

"When I was three I was different. Fierce, colorful and outspoken. I was passionate and wore my heart on my sleeve. You could see my emotions. I was a spitfire," she paused.

"We went to a party. I met a boy there and he was getting too intimate with me. So I screamed at him. 'tou-san got angry," she admitted. "I changed my personality that day. I became calmer, more ladylike and more placid.

"But sometimes, I would become a bit more outspoken. I would get angry when someone tried something or I would say something fiery."

Her eyes clouded over.

"I don't know who I am or what I'm trying to be," she confessed in a small voice.

Aidou gazed into her cinnamon-chocolate irises.

"You can be whoever you want to. You're choices and actions make you who you are at the end of the day," he murmured in a voice that was too wise for an eight-year-old.

"Sometimes you're calm and sometimes you lose your temper. You frown a lot and maybe you'll become hard to agitate. Who knows?"-he shrugged-"You're practical in both personalities. Just be yourself." He tapped her on her heart. "That should be enough for now."

"But you're still weird," he added.

The smile that had curved her lips disappeared. "At least I don't have white hair," she murmured calmly.

Aidou gaped at her as she nimbly untangled his fingers from her wrist and began to walk towards the wall.

"I d-don't have white hair! It's _blond_!" he shrieked after her as she began hoisting herself over the wall.

"Yeah, yeah," she called over her shoulder.

Her mischievous orbs met his as she twisted around.

"Bye white-y," she giggled, then swung over and out of sight.

"Its _blond_!" he called, pouting. His pout faded away as he stared into the sky.

"Who was that, Hanabusa?"

Another boy stepped out of the shade, his amber eyes staring meaningfully at Aidou.

"No one, Akatsuki," he replied without turning to greet him. "No one at all."

* * *

><p><em>I'm so sorry for the late update. I have finals going on and I barely went online paired with my projects and assignments<em>_.  
>Anyway, in this chapter Yori meets Aidou and develops an acquaintanceship with him. She seems to understand herself<br>a bit more and in the beginnings of the chapter we see a more calm, obedient Yori.  
>In the next chapter she is ten. Reviews please!<br>_

Cheers,

Starry Leynx


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